Excerpts from the last full week

The only good thing about getting seriously sun scorched is that The Boy calls me his brown princess and volunteers eagerly to slather the only cure for the burn all over me.
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Every girl should have a pair of short shorts. They're empowering for your mojo, like spinach for Popeye. They make boys sit up and beg. I got a Voodoo Dolls pair when I last went to the Land of Evil. They just about cover the essentials, and I feel like God when I wear them, assuming that God currently has a bad case of sunburn and endless legs.

They made their first public appearance at the going-away barbecue that The Boy's Only Friend's parents threw for me on Monday, and have proven a valuable sneaky weapon in the battle of the sexes.

Slinky: "Hey baby!"
The Boy: "Hey yo - ooooooooo, cute shorts..."

Slinky (reading a trashy magazine)
The Boy: "God, those are some cute shorts."

Slinky (washing up in the kitchen)
The Boy: "Did I mention those shorts are really cute?"
Slinky: "Yea - hey! I'm trying to wash up!"
The Boy: "Heh heh heh."

Slinky (washing more dishes)
The Boy's Only Friend: "I think your shorts are too short."
Slinky: "Why?"
The Boy's Only Friend: "Because - ah, never mind. I shall not be rude." *cue smirking*

I think they are money well spent. Must buy another pair asap.

Unfortunately The Boy has a particular Martinique pullover that makes me forget how to talk. If he wears that it cancels out the mojo that my short shorts give me. The war continues.

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Yesterday we had dinner at Japanese buffet restaurant where my parents have taken the family for my going-away dinner, which they think they're paying for but which I was plotting to pay for. It's the default restaurant where The Boy and I go to when we feel like eating a lot of Japanese food. We're not kidding when we say we eat a lot there. There was once they hid the cutlery from us, hoping that we would go away. Hah. The fools. Like that would stop us.

There is a waitress there who's the service equivalent of a three-dollar note. She doesn't find my reservation, she doesn't know how to take orders, she doesn't know how to prepare a bill and she doesn't understand what you mean when you say "more tea" until you grab the teapot, resisting the urge to bonk her on the head with it, and mime pouring tea into cups which are obviously devoid of tea. She's like one of those plastic cows, purely ornamental, good for absolutely nothing. There were only, it appeared, two waitresses in the restaurant. We were reduced to looking for 'the smart one' and feigning disinterest when the dumb one comes around.

"Get the smart one!" I hiss at my younger sister as she peeps through the curtain.
"Shit, the other one is coming over!" she hisses back as she scurries back through the curtains.
"Fail lah, you," we tell her, after the dumb one pokes her head through the curtains with a quizzical, bovine expression then disappears again.

My youngest sister sometimes appears to inhabit another planet. So much so that my younger sister and I will often chorus "Planet M-, population, one!" when she says something so insanely out of point that it warrants comment.

As an example, my mother recently asked my dad for some tranquilizers.

"I have some," I piped up. (remember the happy pills they gave me when I was sick?)
"Not animal tranquilizers," my youngest sister says with an air that implies that it's always left to her to be sensible.
We all stare at her.
"Did I say they were animal tranquilizers?" I asked her.
"No."
"Then why did you say that?" I ask.
"I don't know."
*facepalm*

She did it again at dinner, where we were discussing a much-vilified younger cousin.
"She likes to wear really skimpy things," my youngest sister says.
"Really?" I say.
"Yeah, she dresses much worse than me."

Pause.

"You do realize you're saying you dress skanky?"
"No,” my youngest sister says, oblivious, "but she dresses much worse than me."

Cue chorus - "Planet M-, population, one!"

Halfway through dinner I fake going to the bathroom and pay for dinner.

My father, after finding out, tells me severely, "Next time, don't sneak off to pay! Why did you go and sneak off to pay?"
Slinky: "Because otherwise you won't let me pay!"

It's in stark contrast to my mum, who finds out I paid already, and goes "Oooh, thanks!"

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I've been eating enormous amounts of food lately. I'm recording all of this for because when I'm cooking my tenth pot of instant noodles in a row because I'm broke and can't cook and thinking of killing myself because I'm so food-deprived and depressed, I'll remember that yes, there was a time where I thought that eating any more good food would kill me. Also because, I'm an enormous, shameless food slut.

During the massive food-fests which re my family dinners over CNY, there was (takes deep breath) cereal prawns, steamed rabbitfish, ngor hiang, deep-fried calamari, sotong balls, duck, chicken, lotus root soup, pork belly, baby octopus, mixed vegetable stew, sweet lotus root soup, mutton masala, nasi briyani, siew yoke, char siew, tandoori fish, chicken curry, chicken rendang and beehoon.

At the barbecue, there were gigantic Sri Lankan crabs, pork belly, Portobello mushrooms, salad, pasta, chicken wings, ribeye steaks, pineapple, garlic bread, baguettes, and the specialty of the night, flaming tulang. God, that shit is like the napalm of the food world. Some were popped on the grill and then the hood of the barbecue was closed, and then it was next opened, it was like looking into Dante's Inferno. The Boy narrowly escaped incineration of his foot when he picked up one and accidentally dropped it on his foot, causing a minor explosion and some really funny backpedaling and yelling. Dinner AND entertainment.

Then there was Indian food with Topher, where there was mutton masala, chicken tandoori, vegetable paneer, aloo gobi, curried fish, yoghurt, some token vegetables, kulfi and my favorite Indian dessert in the entire world, rasmallai. This was followed by Mortinis and steak sandwiches (which I actually passed on because I thought I would die if I ate any more).

Then Japanese food. My family is a little like a locust swarm. Blink and all your crops are gone. We decided that since the smart waitress came so infrequently, we’d order LOTS so that we'd have something to eat in between rounds. So, we had agedashi tofu, grilled long mackerel, eight chawan mushis, chicken karaage, salmon sashimi, swordfish sashimi, deep-fried salmon skin, ebiko sushi, California roll, oysters, tonkatsu toji, jellyfish, tempura, katsu curry, tea soup, and to finish up the meal, watermelon.

Then today The Boy and I went to my favorite restaurant and ate some more. Tortellini, mussels, steamed prawns, prosciutto with melon, air-dried beef, fettuccine, chicken breast stuffed with spinach, sautéed Chinese spinach, lamb loins, scallops on a half-shell, potato hash with bacon, olive bread, sun-dried tomato butter, chocolate profiteroles, panna cotta, tiramisu, strawberries with vanilla sauce, cherry sorbet, frozen yoghurt and lots of whipped cream.

And tomorrow I have lunch with The Boss. Oh god.

Everyone warns me that I'll put on weight once I get there. No one mentioned anything about the part before I leave.
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This was my last weekend with The Boy before I leave. It was simple, and we didn't do anything special. And I miss him already before I've even gone.